


Cloak and Daggers

by Valex_Charme



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, One Direction (Band)
Genre: Adventure, Crossover, Fantasy, M/M, Minor Character Death, Original Character Death(s), Original Character(s), Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-10-28
Updated: 2013-05-02
Packaged: 2017-11-17 06:49:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/548769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Valex_Charme/pseuds/Valex_Charme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An assassin of the Dark Brotherhood kills without mercy or remorse. Zayn has never had second thoughts about killing but when he meets a childhood friend during a contract, his hands stay still and his dagger doesn't taste flesh. But not all is well for Niall when his life in Riften is uprooted and he is caught up in the world of assassins. </p><p>"<i>Sweet mother, sweet mother, send your child unto me for the sins of the unworthy must be baptized in blood and fear.</i>"<br/>-- The Black Sacrament ritual</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Crossed Daggers

**Author's Note:**

> This story will be set in the universe of the video game _The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim_. 
> 
> For those not well-versed in the setting of Skyrim, I will be putting asterisks on unfamiliar terms and their definitions will be at the end notes in alphabetical order. 
> 
> For those familiar with the game, the events of this story happen before the arrival of the Dragonborn in Helgen and will eventually overlap with it.
> 
> I will be adding more characters (the rest of the band and NPCs) as the story progresses.
> 
> Warning: Eventually, there will be depictions of violence and it will probably be graphic. Sex, too. 
> 
> Disclaimer: Bethesda owns the setting and most of the characters that we will be seeing. Some recognizable dialogue lines from their characters will pop up throughout the story. One Direction is an actual band and the main characters in this story are _very_ loosely based on them. It is not meant to imply anything about them in real life.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zayn arrives at Riften.

The forests of Falkreath Hold* were calm and serene, only interrupted occasionally by the creatures that inhabit it. Tall alpine trees tower over the hills that dominate the region and the tranquil Lake Ilinalta supplies the waters of the White River. Comely spriggans* guard enchanted groves and bears make their dens in abandoned Nordic* ruins. Unbeknownst to the citizens of the hold, the peace of the forests hides what was once the most feared organization in all of Tamriel*: the Dark Brotherhood*. 

The door to the Dark Brotherhood Sanctuary rests underneath the shade of a natural overlook, concealing it from a nearby dirt path. In front of this door stood a young man of about 23 winters clad in tight leather armor that exposed his lean muscular build. His head is concealed underneath a dark linen cowl and the lower half of his face is hidden behind a loose scarf. In his right hand rested a blood-stained Septim* coin. 

“What… is the music… of life?” said the slow, hallowed voice of the Black Door. A large skull with the Black Hand painted on its forehead dominated the relief carving decorating the door. 

The man undid the scarf from his neck and said, “Silence, brother.”

Internal gears turned at the words and the steel door opened. “Welcome… home.” 

/

“Hello, brother Malik,” greeted Astrid, a blonde female Nord and leader of the Dark Brotherhood of Skyrim. She was dressed in similar armour to Zayn’s but she wasn’t wearing her mask. No one did when they were in the safety of their Sanctuary. She was leaning over a map of Skyrim*, marking the village of Riverwood with an _x_ to signify Zayn’s return from a clean kill. “Judging from the bloody Septim, I assume the contract went peacefully.”

The ends of Zayn’s lips quirked slightly but he didn’t smile. “When do they ever die peacefully?”

“Well done, then,” Astrid lauded. She reached under the stone table separating her and Zayn before producing a purse of coins. “I took the liberty of collecting your commission from the contractor.” She handed him the purse. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“Of course not, Astrid,” Zayn replied. He took the bag from her and smiled inwardly at the weight of the coins. Zayn never liked bards and his contractor’s propensity for singing praise about the girl he loved only made him dislike them even more. He didn’t particularly care for the reasons why their contractors wanted someone dead. Be it a rival for the love of your life or the child who left a pile of cow dung on your front door. But if you were able to pay, then consider the person who has earned your enmity as good as dead. Such was the thinking of an assassin. 

“Rest well, brother.”

Zayn nodded and walked off, heading towards his private quarters. 

The walls of the Sanctuary were carved from the underside of the stony hill above and the roots of trees sometimes pierce the solid stone to appear in the hallways. The masonry of the parts of the Sanctuary that weren’t carved from the earth suggests extreme age and lends the space an ancient atmosphere. Smoldering coals on pedestals illuminate the large cavern where a stained glass image of Sithis* watches over from atop a small waterfall. Training mannequins line a side of the cavern adjacent to a wall where a blacksmith’s furnace and workbench hold many finished and unfinished metal works. Candles cast soft light along the stone hallways leading to and from each cavern and room.

Zayn shut the wooden door of his quarters behind him and set the bag of gold coins on a wooden dresser. He pulled back his cowl and pulled off the scarf masking his face, allowing his dark hair to shine in the candle glow. He walked towards the foot of his bed and kneeled next to an unassuming stone chest. Using a silver key he kept on his person at all times, he opened it.

Inside the chest were countless blood-stained coins, some were Septims while others were of different denominations or currency. Zayn pressed the bloody Septim he was carrying to his lips and whispered, “I deliver this soul unto Your Void. Hail Sithis.” The coin was dropped in with the rest and the chest promptly closed.

/

It was an eventless week after Zayn had finished his contract. Ever since the dismantling of the Black Hand* and the destruction of the Dark Brotherhood of Cyrodiil*, there has been no Listener to listen to the Night Mother* answer the prayers of potential contractors. As such, the Dark Brotherhood of Skyrim now relied on hearsay to catch wind of anyone performing the Black Sacrament* to pray to the Night Mother. 

Gabriella, their resident Dunmer* mage, was just recently sent to the city of Winterhold* to fulfill a contract against one of the students at the Mages’ College*. Drinking his mead, Zayn idly thought about how his life would’ve turned out if he were a mage. 

“Zayn,” Babette called from the alchemy station. “I have your potions ready.” 

Looking up from his gazing at the bottom of his cup, Zayn saw Babette walking towards him carrying four bottles of varying sizes and colours. Zayn liked Babette the most out of his Dark brothers and sisters. In her three hundred years as a vampire, she has learned the most potent ways of brewing potions and poisons. And Zayn always liked children more than adults so having Babette stuck as a little girl was nice, too. 

“Thanks, Babette.” 

“You’re welcome,” she answered as she took a seat next to him on the table. She swung her short legs once she was sat, making her look like a normal girl. She cleared her throat as if expecting something and Zayn pulled out a piece of candy and gave it to her. “And thank you, Zayn.”

“Why do you even eat candy?” Zayn asked. “You’re a vampire. It’s not like you can taste it.”

Babette just shrugged and pulled the wrapper from the piece of candy. “It makes me nostalgic,” she replied simply. “After three hundred years as a child, you can forget to enjoy the little things sometimes.” She leaned against Zayn’s side as she tried vainly to taste the sugar of the treat. 

The two of them sat for a while, talking about past contracts they’ve told each other countless times before. Babette boasted—again—about how she was able to lure this older man who wanted to buy her some candy into a secluded alley before sinking her fangs into his wrinkly neck. Zayn, in turn, shared the time he killed a farmer by having his chickens and cows eat him. 

“You used my poison on those animals!” Babette protested. 

“I’d have killed him myself but the man smelled of dung and urine all the time,” Zayn replied. 

Babette obviously had a higher kill count than Zayn, not because she’s a better assassin but because she’s been with the Dark Brotherhood for longer than Zayn has. 

Zayn joined the Dark Brotherhood after he had killed his often-drunk father for abusing his mother to the point of near death. The Maliks lived in a small house in Riften, the capital city of The Rift*. Zayn’s father worked for the Black Briar Meadery and his mother packaged fish at the Riften Fishery. His father would often come home drunk and abuse both Zayn and his mother. 

At the age of seventeen, Zayn bludgeoned his father to death with an iron ingot to protect his mother. His mother succumbed to her injuries a few hours after her husband’s death. As luck, or as Zayn would say, Sithis would have it, his mother had been performing the Black Sacrament hoping that the Dark Brotherhood would kill her husband and relieve her and Zayn from his abuse. Astrid arrived at the Maliks’ to see her quarry killed, her contractor beaten to death, and a young Zayn praying by their corpses for forgiveness. 

Zayn had long abandoned the worship of Mara*, goddess of love. How was he supposed to _honor his parents and preserve the peace and security of the home and family_ when his father was incapable of either? No. To him, Mara died when his mother died. 

“There you are,” Festus Krex, an old man who prefers to slay his victims using magic, sighed. “Send an old man running around the Sanctuary why don’t you!”

“Festus, you know Zayn and I could almost always be found here,” Babette replied a bit curtly. “Why would you even think about looking elsewhere first?”

“You may be three hundred years old,” Festus began, “but you must still respect your elders, young lady.” She stuck out her tongue at him and he just dismissed her with a wave. He gestured to Zayn. “Astrid has a contract for you.”

“Have fun,” Babette said, smiling up at him with the false innocence of a little girl. If he could, Zayn would’ve smiled back. 

/

The campfire crackled as Zayn threw another branch into it, watching the flames devour the wood. He had made camp just a few miles east of the city of Whiterun* to spend the night. The moons shone brightly down on Tamriel, Masser with its rusty red surface and Secunda with its silver grey craters. Zayn was thankful that the skies were clear and that snow wouldn’t fall. He hated the snow almost as much as he hated setting up his tent. 

Zayn turned to the three dead bandits piled beside a tree. He raised his bottle of mead in salutation, thanking them for setting up a camp for him. _Poor fools_. All it took was one stab each from his poisoned stiletto and the three bandits collapsed before they could even pull their weapons. 

In the dying light of the fire, Zayn reread the parchment Astrid handed to him back in the Sanctuary. There was a man in Riften* by the name of Marcurio staying at The Bee and Barb who performed the Black Sacrament against a priestess of Mara. The rest of the contract’s details were to be discussed in person. 

By noon the following day, Zayn could see the once-proud banners of Riften hanging beside the North Gate. Its colours have diminished with age and the civil war has diverted attention away from restoration. The rich violet of the field has become a dim plum and the golden fabric of the borders and crossed daggers has faded. It fit Riften perfectly: an aging city still hanging on to its former glory as the trade hub of Skyrim. 

The guards eyed him through their steel helmets as he made his way past them and through the gates. He never liked the guards the Jarl* assigns to guard the gates. They let anyone whom they can’t mess with inside and shakedown those who clearly can’t fight back. He remembered the harassment his parents faced when they first entered the city when he was a child. The guards were lucky they weren’t the targets of a contract. 

Underneath his mask, he scowled as he walked along Riften’s familiar streets. He hated this city. It smelled of stagnant water and the wooden buildings looked as run-down as ever giving them the illusion of being stuck in a bygone time. He avoided the street where his family’s cottage once stood and opened the doors to The Bee and Barb inn.

Zayn ignored the curious stares of the patrons as he walked past them. He sat at the bar and asked the tall, male Argonian* bartender for a flagon of White-Gold Tower—a mix of heavy cream, blended mead, lavender, and dragon’s tongue*. Of all the things Zayn learned from his father, the only one that stuck was drinking. Mead, wine, ale, beer. You name it, Zayn’s probably drank it. But unlike his father, Zayn knew how to drink in moderation, even if he did drink while on the job. 

As he waited for his drink, Zayn scanned the room and found Marcurio sitting with another man at a table at the far side. He looked like a typical Imperial* mage with his tan robes, light boots, and dagger holster. _I can’t wait to hear your story,_ Zayn thought sarcastically. 

“Here you go, sir,” the Argonian said as he placed a flagon and mug in front of Zayn. “White-Gold Tower.” Zayn dropped 15 Septims on the counter and undid his mask to drink. “So what brings you to Riften, stranger?”

“Business,” Zayn replied before relocating to an empty table. 

As the day passed, citizens of Riften came in and out of The Bee and Barb. Some were there to drown their woes in mead or to participate in their many social interactions. Zayn saw a few farmers from the surrounding farms gather at the bar to complain about their harvests being sent to Stormcloak* rebels in Windhelm. He noticed Maven Black-Briar, owner of the Black-Briar Meadery and the most powerful person in Riften, arrive. Her appearance caused a slight pause in the business of the inn but once she ascended the stairs everyone resumed. 

If her family didn’t make the best damn mead in Skyrim, Zayn would’ve relished the opportunity to slit her throat for making his father an alcoholic. But as it was, she and Astrid had an arrangement and neither the Black-Briars nor the Dark Brotherhood would get in the other’s way. 

At about seven hours into the afternoon, the sun had long gone and night settled over The Rift. Zayn’s eyes followed Marcurio walking up the stairs and likely to his room. Zayn surreptitiously followed, careful to not attract the attention of the innkeeper.

Zayn knocked on Marcurio’s door. 

“I told you, Talen-Jei! I’ll have your rent tomorrow!” came the reply. “Leave a man so he may sleep!”

Zayn knocked again. 

This time he could hear footsteps coming towards the door before it opened. “I said—” Marcurio stopped midsentence before taking a step back. “Who are you?”

Zayn pushed past the threshold of the door and entered the room. “The Night Mother has heard your pleas, Marcurio.”

The mage’s eyes widened and he fell to his bed in surprise. “Ar-Are you from the Dark Brotherhood? It actually worked?” The disbelief in his voice didn’t come unnaturally to Zayn’s ears. No one could really believe it when an assassin sent by the Night Mother arrives to kill someone for you. 

Zayn nodded.

“This is unbelievable! I can’t believe this is happening!” Marcurio remarked. “Please have a seat.” The mage gestured to the only chair in the room but Zayn stayed standing. Marcurio coughed to hide his embarrassment. “Of course. Down to business then.” 

The excitement in Marcurio’s eyes didn’t falter as he explained the reasons for his prayer to the Night Mother. “I want Andrea the Thankful dead. She is a priestess at the Temple of Mara,” he explained. “That bitch is supposed to serve the goddess of love! Yet, she refuses to accept mine!” Marcurio stood up and looked out the window into the clear night sky. “Every day I would court her, woo her, hoping that she would reciprocate. I gave that bitch my heart and she tore it asunder!” 

Zayn crossed his arms impatiently. This one was a particularly dramatic client. Zayn swore Astrid kept giving him these contracts as some sick joke. He would need to talk to her about this when he got back to the Sanctuary. 

“Please,” Marcurio said as he turned to look at Zayn again. “She must die so that no other man may feel my pain.” When Marcurio spoke no more, Zayn had concluded that he was done explaining his motives. He promptly left the young man to himself, leaving the inn and heading for the Temple of Mara.

/

Andrea the Thankful was praying to the Loving Mother when Niall was sweeping the floors of the chapel. Niall didn’t like it when worshippers didn’t wipe their feet before entering the temple. It forced him to hand scrub the wooden floors after the day is done. 

The temple was quite modest. Three rows of pews, one on each side, were in the centre of the main room. A statue of Mara stood at the front, Her eyes looking towards heaven and Her hands low and positioned in invocation. Before the statue was an offering bowl with a few Septims left by worshippers. Candles lit the chapel with a soft and cozy glow. 

“Andrea,” Niall called as he put away the broom and closed the doors of the chapel. 

The priestess ceased her hymns and turned to the aspiring acolyte. Andrea was a female Breton of about 25 winters though the years have been unnaturally kind to her. Her face was radiant, especially when she smiled. And her dark hair softly flowed to her shoulders in gentle waves, framing her round face. Even the simple orange robes she wore didn’t make her seem unsightly. 

“Yes, Niall?”

“Is it alright if I stayed out for a bit?” Niall asked, dusting his robes. 

A fine example of Nord youth, Niall was about 22 years old. His blonde hair was kept just short of touching his ears. His eyes were blue, characteristic of his northern heritage. The robes he wore seem to be too large for him and give the illusion that he is thin but he is actually quite strong. Not strong enough to swing a war axe but enough to wield a short sword. 

Andrea shook her head. “You know High Priest Maramal doesn’t like it when we overindulge.” She gave Niall a knowing look.

Niall tried to hide the shock from his face as he stammered for a reply. “I wasn’t going to The Bee and Barb to drink! I was just craving their Argonian cuisine.” Andrea looked unconvinced having caught Niall intoxicated a few too many times. “Besides, Maramal isn’t here tonight. He’s at Solitude* on the other side of Skyrim! Come on, Andrea.”

“Fine,” she relented. “But the next Maramal catches you, I won’t be there to help you out of your punishment.” 

“Yes!” Niall shouted triumphantly. “Thanks, Andrea!” He promptly gave her a quick hug before leaving the temple to Andrea’s care. 

As he descended the steps from the building, Niall failed to notice the dark figure hidden beneath one of the trees of the courtyard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Argonian(s) - reptilian-folk native to the province of Black Marsh  
> Black Hand - ruling body of the Dark Brotherhood; now disbanded  
> Black Sacrament - ritual performed to contact the Dark Brotherhood  
> Cyrodiil - central province of Tamriel and home to Imperials and the Imperial City, capital of the Empire  
> Dark Brotherhood - an organization of high skilled assassins  
> Dunmer - dark-skinned elves native to the province of Morrowind  
> Falkreath Hold - central southern hold of Skyrim  
> Imperial(s) - a race of humans native to the cosmopolitan province of Cyrodiil  
> jarl - a Nordic king who rules over a hold  
> Mages' College - also known as the College of Winterhold, it is the only institution in Skyrim dedicated to the study of the arcane arts  
> Mara - goddess of love  
> Night Mother - bride of Sithis and legendary founder of the Dark Brotherhood  
> Nord(s) - a race of tall, fair-haired humans native to Skyrim  
> Rift, The - southeastern hold of Skyrim  
> Riften - capital city of The Rift  
> Septim - currency used in the Empire  
> Sithis - deity representative of darkness and the Void; worshipped by the Dark Brotherhood  
> Skyrim - northernmost province of Tamriel and home to the Nords; currently embroiled in a rebellion against the Empire  
> Solitude - capital city of the province of Skyrim and capital city of the hold of Haafingar  
> spriggans - tree spirits  
> Stormcloaks - rebels led by Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak of Windhelm against the Empire  
> Tamriel - the continent where the story unfolds  
> Winterhold - capital city of Skyrim's northeastern hold of the same name  
> Whiterun - capital city of Whiterun Hold


	2. Deaths of the Thankful

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the death of a priestess of Mara, someone has to be punished.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you think Liam, Harry, and Louis should be in this AU? Comment below or message me on my Tumblr :)

Andrea the Thankful was putting away the few tithes they received when she noticed a hooded figure approach from the entrance of the chapel closing the doors behind. She put down the coins and turned to the visitor. “How may I help you, child of Mara?” she asked. 

The stranger advanced too quickly for her to react and she only caught a glimpse of shiny metal in his hand before she fell against the feet of Mara, a sharp thin blade piercing her heart. She wanted to scream but found her voice was lost. She wanted to struggle but found her muscles were relaxed. She wanted to cry but her eyes could only stare at the dark brown ones of her assailant as he plunged the dagger deeper into her chest. She breathed her last breath and her head lolled to the side. 

Zayn released her body and it dropped limply to the base of Mara’s statue. “To the Void with you,” Zayn said as he took a Septim from the offering bowl and dipped it against the fatal wound. He examined his work, debating whether to hide the body or just leave it for immediate discovery when the doors to the chapel opened.

“Andrea, I forgot my money,” Niall meant to say as he re-entered the temple. Instead, what came out of him was a sharp gasp. 

Niall’s eyes immediately centered on the darkly clothed figure crouching near her. The assailant was dressed in dark leather reinforced on his abdomen and joints. A dark cowl and mask covered most of his face and the air around him seethed with dark magic. And for a moment, Niall was stunned. 

Zayn stood up immediately and brandished his weapons, a dagger in each hand. He threw one of them at Niall when he tried to run, stabbing his left thigh and causing him to fall to the ground just outside the temple doors. 

“Guar—” 

“Be quiet,” Zayn grunted as he swung a candle stick hard onto the side of Niall’s head, knocking him out. 

He pulled the unconscious man inside before peaking outside briefly, checking if any town guard had heard. The night remained quiet for a few seconds and Zayn closed the doors to the temple. Now that all was clear, Zayn was free to tie up the loose end before he came to. 

Holding a knife in his hand, Zayn walked towards Niall. Every step creaked on the wooden floor, every step was made with purpose and deadly intent. He knelt beside the fallen man and made to slit his throat when Zayn found a faint scar along the length of his quarry’s neck. He pressed his blade edge against it, following its length. Zayn’s eyes widened and his brows shot up in a rare moment of surprise.

He knew that scar. And he knew this man. 

“Niall?”

Then all purpose vanished and all intent fled.

/

Zayn watched the amulet of Mara* as he swung it in his hand. He found Niall wearing it which meant that he was going to propose to someone. Zayn’s hands tightened against the amulet, unsure of how he felt about it. He had no business wondering about who this girl was but Zayn wondered nonetheless. _Whoever she is, she’ll have to wait._. Zayn pocketed the amulet and turned to his old friend. 

Even bound by ropes and mouth gagged by a tightly knotted cloth, Niall looked almost like he did the last time Zayn saw him. 

It was almost 12 years ago. Zayn was 11, Niall was 10. Niall’s family was moving to Markarth* and Niall took Zayn to their favorite spot by Lake Honrich for his last day in Riften. It was the height of summer and the waters would be refreshing instead of freezing. The clear waters splashed around them as they played. There were no guards to yell at them to stay clothed, no farmers to tell them to get lost. It was _their_ spot. 

At the time, word around Riften’s youth was that there was a pink gemstone lost somewhere in the lake. Zayn and Niall always daydreamed about finding that gemstone, showing it off to their parents. Then they would show it off to the other kids who picked on them. That would show them. 

That day, while they were swimming in the lake, Niall said, “I bet we could find that Unusual Gem*!”

“We don’t even know where it is, Nialler,” Zayn countered back then as he shielded his eyes from the summer sun. 

“Sure we do!” Niall exclaimed confidently. “It’s over there.” He pointed over at the centre of Lake Honrich. “We just have to swim.” And he did. He jumped into the lake and swam towards the deep end without waiting for Zayn.

Zayn remembered sitting up on the beach, expecting to see Niall wave to him from the farthest distance he could swim before swimming back. But then he saw red. And he swam. 

Underneath the water, Zayn could see Niall flailing his arm where a slaughterfish* has clamped its jaws. Blood was flowing from its maws and from a long wound on Niall’s neck where its razor fins have cut his skin. Niall’s face was obscured by bubbles as he struggled and Zayn swam furiously to help.

Niall lost a lot of blood by the time they got out of the lake and there was no one nearby to help them. The sun beat down on them both as Zayn carried Niall towards town, injuries bound tightly by their clothes. With Niall near death, Zayn powered through the biting insects and rocky ground to make it to the city walls. The soles of his feet were bleeding by the time guards rushed to their aid. 

Niall’s parents couldn’t bear to scold their dying son but they care about the half-blood Redguard* child that saved him. Both of their parents argued outside the temple over whose fault it was while Zayn stayed by Niall’s side on the bed. 

“S’not your fault, Zayn,” Niall murmured weakly. His eyes were still shut and his skin was still deathly pale but he was lucid. And Zayn smiled through the tears. His friend was still alive. 

A groan pulled Zayn back from the past and he turned to the prone figure of his childhood friend.

/

Niall felt a dull pain on the side of his temple when sunlight began to waken him from slumber. Sitting up groggily, he realized he was lying on his bed in the room he shared with Andrea. He turned his head to look around for her when his head began to throb. 

“Andrea?” he called out, squinting through the dull pain. He groaned when no one replied. _Did I get pissed again? Oh, Maramal will kill me if he finds out!_ In his anxiousness, he dropped his head into his hands feeling utterly defeated when he felt the bandage wrapped around his temple.

The bandage was damp on one side and when he retrieved his hand Niall’s fingers were darkly stained with his blood. That’s when he began to worry. _Did I get into a bar fight? Oh, Andrea is definitely going to tell Maramal about this!_. He wanted to get to Andrea and convince her about staying quiet so he threw off his covers and jumped off his bed.

“Ah!” he cried when he put weight behind his left leg and promptly fell to the floor. “What in the…” 

Niall soon realized that he had a very serious injury on his left thigh and dread replaced his anxiety. He doesn’t remember getting into any fights. And this was definitely an armed confrontation. He doesn’t even remember having gone to the Bee and Barb last night! _Damn it. What in Oblivion hit my head?_

“Andrea,” he called out, hand nursing his head.

Shakily, he managed to stand up and make his way out of the room. It was dark in the chapel with very little sunlight filtering through the windows far above the main doors. The candles were melted onto their holders when they should’ve been replaced by now and the coals have all burnt out. The entire building was void of sound and the only thing Niall could hear were his own footsteps, laboured and slow. “Andrea?”

The statue of Mara still shone brightly in the very little light it received and Niall was slightly comforted. Then he smelled it. It smelled of decay. It smelled of death.

“Andrea!” Niall gasped.

The small shrine of Mara rested in ruins on the floor, its stone shards scattered and Her loving face broken in half. The body of Andrea the Thankful was laid on the altar before the image of the Loving Mother, lifeless and pale. Her eyes were open wide with remnants of terror and fear, her mouth left open as a ghost of her last breath. Niall limped towards the altar, the soles of his feet getting scratched by Mara’s stones.

“Talos*,” Niall breathed out, mind barely able to orchestrate his voice. _Who could’ve done this?_ he thought helplessly. He needed to get a guard. He needed to get help! 

Niall tore his gaze away from the corpse of his good friend and went to get the guards. But before he could take his second step, the doors of the temple opened letting in sunlight and the mage Marcurio.

“I tell you I heard violence upon the chapel of Mara and—” Marcurio stopped his tale telling when he found a sight he truly wasn’t expecting: the acolyte arriving at the scene before him. The assassin had told him of the accomplishment and that the body was left for whatever purpose he wished but the damn assassin didn’t tell him that there would be someone else to see the body before him. The two guards behind Marcurio took one look at Niall, who was shielding his eyes from the sunlight with blood-stained hands, before drawing their weapons.

“Take no step further,” one of the guards ordered, his voice resounding in authority. 

Confused, Niall stopped in his tracks. “I don’t understand,” he croaked. His throat suddenly felt parch and his stomach empty. 

The guards pushed their way past Marcurio who was left standing just outside the temple. One of them passed Niall to investigate the interior while the other held his arm firmly while staring at the body on the altar. “By Ysmir*, you’ve killed the priestess of Mara.”

“What!” Niall protested as he tried to pull away. “No! I didn’t do this!”

“Imperial, is this the ruckus you have heard?” the guard asked Marcurio. 

Marcurio was deep in thought when the question was given. It was supposed to be so simple in his mind. But this acolyte may have ruined his plans. “Yes, I fear it may have been.”

The other guard returned carrying a knife with dried blood and a chill settled over Niall. “Looks like the priestess was murdered with this,” the guard concluded. 

Niall eyed the offending weapon, never before seeing it in his life. “I didn’t do it! I swear upon Talos!” He struggled against the strong grip of the guard but he was weak. He hadn’t had the chance to eat breakfast and he probably didn’t eat last night since he couldn’t remember. “You must believe me. I could never hurt her. I could never hurt anyone!

“Her blood is quite literally on your hands,” Marcurio pointed out. 

The guards nodded to each and the one holding Niall pulled him forward and out of the temple. The other remained behind to deal with the body. Marcurio watched curiously as the guard and Niall passed him, wondering whether this was actually a blessing in disguise. 

“You have committed crimes against Skyrim and her people,” the guard recited to Niall as he was led through Riften’s streets. Some citizens watched from their stalls and market-goers peered from the plaza across the canal. He saw their surprised faces, their accusatory gazes, their worried expressions. The ache in his temple worsened and he looked away feeling ashamed. “What say you in your defense?”

The words were like stones being pelted against his soul. Niall couldn’t remember what had happened and he can’t understand why this is happening now. But he knows that he didn’t murder Andrea. He couldn’t have. The guards wouldn’t believe him though. They think they have evidence against him and a witness to support them. This was a fight he wasn’t going to win but that didn’t mean he’d give up. “I am innocent.”

They passed by the imposing bulk of Black-Briar Manor and the people on the streets gave way to the guard and his prisoner. Niall was lead through the stone walls of Mist Veil Keep. He had never before been to this place. Jarl Laila Law-Giver often held public gatherings here to hear the plight of her people. Now, Niall has lost the opportunity to visit as a guest and instead is now here as an accused murderer.

The dungeon was dark and the torches’ light showed off the various torture machines guards used for interrogation. There were no other prisoners when Niall was thrown into a small cell barely long enough for his body to be able to lie down properly. The floor was filthy and covered with straw. His bandages had become soiled with fresh blood but he wasn’t given new ones to replace them with. Worst of all, they took away his priestly robes and gave him rags in their stead. 

A bowl of gruel was slid into his cell a few hours after he had been incarcerated and he devoured it eagerly. The taste was awful but his belly felt satisfied at having been filled.

“Wait!” Niall shouted at the departing guard. “Do I get a trial before a magistrate?”

The guard turned to him. “Yes, tomorrow at noon. But I wouldn’t pray to the Nine* tonight murderer. After defiling Mara’s temple, no god will answer you.”

The cold iron bars suddenly felt like searing ice against his palms and Niall backed away. The guard let out a low chuckle before leaving Niall to his misery. He fell down on the straw covered floor and the bleakness of his life finally fell down on his shoulders. He held his shaking hands together and prayed. 

“Loving Mara, I offered myself entirely to thee,” Niall said choking down a sob. “I offered my days of youth and my days of age willingly. I offered my eyes, my ears, my mouth, my heart, my whole being without reserve. Wherefore, divine Mother, as I am your own, keep me and guard me as your property and possession.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Amulet of Mara - a necklace worn around the neck when one is looking to get married; not often worn otherwise, even by priests of Mara  
> Markarth - capital city of The Reach  
> Nine, the - more commonly The Nine Divines; the central pantheon of the Empire composed of eight Aedra plus the deified Tiber Septim  
> Redguard(s) - a race of dark-skinned humans native to the province of Hammerfell  
> slaughterfish - hostile, predatory fish that inhabit the waters of Tamriel  
> Talos - also known as Tiber Septim or Ysmir; founder of the Third Empire and worshipped as the hero-god of humanity and god of warfare and just rulership; currently, his worship is outlawed in the Empire  
> Unusual Gem - an unusual gem  
> Ysmir - see Talos
> 
> **The prayer at the end is not mine. I edited it from an actual prayer.


	3. Prayers Answered

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zayn happens upon the guards taking Niall to Fort Greenwall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm very sorry the ETA lied to you. Lol. But I do hope you enjoy this chapter, though it is a bit of a filler. 
> 
> The next chapter will introduce a third member of the band.

The iron manacles felt cold and heavy on Niall’s wrists as the guards locked them. He spent the night huddled on the straw covered stone floor of his cell, shivering in the chilly prison. Now it was presumably the morning after and he was being pulled to his feet and led to the venue of his trial. Niall didn’t know what would happen today but he was determined to plead his innocence.

“This way,” the guard leading him said as they walked through the mazelike hallways of the Mistveil dungeons.

Soon, they reached the doors that led to the outside. It was murky and wet. The sun was covered by dark clouds and Niall couldn’t find its position in the sky. As such, Niall was unable to tell the time of day, which made him slightly nervous. Timekeeping was something Niall was very good at when he was studying at Markarth and it took one night in a dungeon to unsync his internal clock. He was definitely glad to be out of there, even if just for a while. 

The guard led Niall through the main streets of Riften northward, tugging him along with a chain attached to his manacles. When Niall slowed down because his leg injury was throbbing, the guard would yank hard on the chain and force Niall to limp faster.The bandages were red with dried and fresh blood and Niall wished they’d let him have some fresh bandages. 

Along the way, there were only a few citizens going about their routine. Niall shivered in the cold wind and was thankful not too many people were able to see him in his current state. Those that were there gave him a passing derisive glance before turning away. 

The two of them passed by the entrance to the Temple of Mara. Its great wooden doors were closed and its iron gates were shut. His head throbbed painfully as he thought of what would happen now. There would be no one to assist Maramal now and Niall felt his heart plunge down into his stomach at the thought. 

When he saw The Bee and Barb pass by across the canal, Niall realized how weak and hungry he felt now. His legs started to shake as they kept walking and he wondered where his trial would be held.It would need to be somewhere nearby because he was about to pass out from the pain. When they reached North Gate, Niall stopped wondering. 

There was a cage on a wagon just outside the gate. And it looked like it was meant for him. 

“Niall Horan,” the guard announced from a piece of parchment he had pulled from his satchel. “For the murder of Andrea the Thankful, priestess of Mara, a crime against Riften and its people, you are to be exiled from Riften and are forbidden to enter the land within its walls.”

Niall wanted to protest the sentence as soon as they were said to him. The Jarl couldn’t do this to him! He had a right to be tried and to plead his case! But a different guard had placed a dark cloth bag over his head and bound it. 

“Wait! You can’t do this!” Niall cried through the muffling fabric. He struggled against the strong hold of the large guard behind him, jabbing his elbows against the guard’s cuirass*. 

“For the desecration of the Temple of Mara, a crime against the Divines, the honour of the city and the welfare of its people, Jarl Laila Law-Giver hereby strips you of your status as priest of Mara, are forbidden from entering the sacred spaces of the Divines, and are sentenced to life imprisonment at Fort Greenwall.” The guard rolled up the piece of parchment and stood solemnly in front of the restrained and blinded Niall. “You should’ve been sentenced to death, young priest,” the guard said simply. “But the Jarl is superstitious and was against the death of another servant of Mara.” He waved to the other guard holding Niall. “Take him away.”

“Come along, then,” the guard restraining him said. 

“No! Stop!”Niall struggled against him as he was practically dragged towards the caged carriage. He didn’t even care that he probably opened his wound wide. He had to talk to the Jarl.

“By Talos! Stop fighting!” the guard complained as Niall tried to kick and wrestle his body away from him. The other guard was forced to help the other restrain Niall. When Niall wouldn’t stop fighting against them, the guard pulled out his sword and struck the back of Niall’s temple with the steel hilt. 

Dazed, Niall was thrown roughly against iron bars and he could hear the door of the cage shut before being locked. He could feel the side of his head starting to swell where he was hit and the pain was only bearable because he felt numb to the world. Mara had abandoned him to be a prisoner for a crime he didn’t commit. There was nothing that could be done. 

The skies thundered and Niall turned to the heavens in despair. He wanted to cry out and question why this was happening to him. He wanted to curse. He wanted to know! And as if the gods knew what was happening to one of their most devoted servants, they sent down a torrent of rain upon The Rift. Winds blew against the banners of Riften and the hanging signs of shops and businesses rattled against their handles. Waves crashed against the shores of Lake Honrich and boats floated precariously along the docks.

As the showers dampened the dark cloth surrounding his head, the rain mingled with the tears Niall shed. Then the horse began the journey to Fort Greenwall. 

/

“Sithis,” Zayn groaned as he felt a drop of water fall on his forearm. He pulled on the reins of his stolen horse to direct it towards a young forest off the road where he could make camp. By the time Zayn had gotten to the spot he wanted, the rain had descended into a downpour and the only thing keeping him from getting soaked was his armour. But he knew that rain would ruin the leather so he quickly tied his horse’s reins to a tree and set to work.

Thirty minutes later, Zayn had set up his camp and collected some very wet firewood. But if travelling throughout Skyrim has taught him anything, it’s that Babette is definitely his favourite person in all of Tamriel. He took out her enchanted flint and steel and sparked a fire with the wet wood. With a satisfied huff, he adjusted himself so he was situated in front of the fire and under the wooden eave of his temporary shelter. 

The forest was quiet with only the pitter-patter of rain and the occasional soft whinny of the horse interrupting the peace. His fire battled the rain water as it tried to extinguish it, drop by drop. But Zayn knew the enchanted fire would burn as long as he kept feeding it. He’d just have to be sure to remember to extinguish it with mud before the forest burned down. 

Zayn was about a half hour out of Riften. He knew he should’ve waited one more day before leaving the city from the looks of the clouds. It looked like it would rain throughout the night. And here he hoped he would reach Cragslane Cavern before dawn. 

“Damn you, Astrid,” Zayn cursed as if she was responsible for the turn in the weather. He took a long swig from his bottle of mead. The only good thing to come out of this contract was that his bag was full of a dozen or so bottles of Black-Briar Reserve, a rarer and more expensive drink than Black-Briar Mead. Zayn loved its more potent taste and the slow burn as it travelled down his throat. He basically spent all of the commission money on it.

He lied back into his bedroll, holding the bottle of mead to his chest. He was about to fall asleep when the alcohol spilled on his chest. “Damn it.”

The air was still but it was cold against his damp skin. He took off his armour and set it aside, leaving the fire to warm the olive skin of his bare torso. Zayn threw some more branches into the fire, watching the fire crackle against the damp wood before enveloping it.

When he lied back down to try and rest, he felt something metallic and cold under his back. He reached for it and held it in front of the fire. It was Niall’s amulet of Mara.

He examined the wave patterns of the small bronze circles. Nord metalwork was appreciated as the finest of its kind throughout the Empire. Personally, Zayn didn’t much care for it. The interlaced design that kept the jade in place on the main pendant seemed so graceful but Zayn just thought it was unnecessarily abstract. Then again, he only did know the art of killing. Not the art of… whatever this was. 

He threw the amulet aside and closed his eyes, thinking what would have happened had he spoken to Niall during his time in Riften. He had fallen asleep before he could formulate a scenario where Niall _didn’t_ try to kill him for killing Andrea. 

/

Zayn’s sleep was interrupted by the loud neighing of his stolen horse. He immediately drew the daggers hidden in his boots and held them at the ready. The rain was still pelting the makeshift roof of his sleeping area but he didn’t have time to put on his armour before he crouched out.

The fire still clung to life using the little firewood that was left as Zayn crept closer to his horse. Upon seeing Zayn, the horse calmed down a bit but remained restless. Its eyes were wide open as it looked towards the road. Zayn followed its gaze, his body seamlessly camouflaged against the backdrop of the forest as he crept closer to the road. 

He was expecting bandits fighting against guards when he heard swords being drawn and grunts shouted. But what he saw instead was a guard fighting off a fearsome bear by a caged wagon. There was a body of another guard on the road, her sword a foot away from her motionless arm and her armour showing where the bear had clawed at her. The bear growled as it stood on its hind legs before breaking into a charge against the only standing guard left. Zayn saw the guard try to push the bear back with his shield but instead got his helmet clawed off his head.

“What’s happening!” the person in the cage shouted in alarmed confusion as the lone guard tried to fight off the bear. The prisoner held on to the bars of the cage before jumping back at the sound of a nearby roar.

Zayn furrowed his eyes at the familiar voice. It can’t be Niall. But the accented tone was unmistakably his. _What is he doing in a cage?_ he thought a bit angrily as he noticed that Niall was in chains and his head was covered by a cloth hood. 

He gripped his daggers tightly before jumping out of cover and made a running jab at the bear’s neck. His left dagger made a quick slice as the bear bit into the arm of the guard. The guard cried out hysterically as the bear thrashed about in pain, the guard’s arm still in its jaws, before giving out and collapsing. 

Withdrawing his injured arm from the bear, the guard turned to Zayn. “Ysmir’s beard, you saved my life!” The guard sounded pained but grateful. His bearded face was strained and he was sporting a claw wound along his neck that would certainly scar when it healed. 

But Zayn didn’t care about the guard. He wanted to know why his old friend was in a cage and not in the Temple of Mara.

“Who is your prisoner? Where are you taking him?” Zayn asked plainly. His voice was low and dark and the guard looked confused.

“H-He’s no one. Niall Horan,” the guard answered with some hesitation. “Some murderer sentenced by Jarl Laila Law-Giver to imprisonment at Fort Greenwall.” Zayn walked along the length of the wagon towards the locked door of the cage. The guard had cradled his injured arm and walked towards him. “I wouldn’t go near him lest you risk the wrath of the gods. He murdered a priestess of Mara.”

Zayn frowned. That was definitely not what he wanted to hear. He immediately turned back to the guard, set on killing him for his words. How dare he think that a mere acolyte of Mara could have left a victim still screaming in their death? 

“I did not kill Andrea the Thankful!” Niall shouted weakly at the mention of his name and accused crimes. He gave a sickly cough and both Zayn and the guard turned to him. Niall was gripping iron bars of his cage, following the voices of the outsiders to get closer to them. “I didn’t kill her,” Niall said directly to Zayn. Zayn felt Niall looking straight into his eyes through the black cloth separating them. 

“Quiet!” the guard shouted before reaching in to grab the cloth covering Niall’s head and throwing him backwards into the cage making Niall hit the other side of cage with his arm and fall against it. “Damn it!” the guard cursed when the action worsened his injury.

Zayn glared at the guard, making him take a wary step back. “What are you doing?” the guard shouted as Zayn bared his other dagger and advanced on the guard. Zayn looked lean and slightly smaller than the guard, especially since he wasn’t wearing his armour. But the fury in Zayn’s eyes flashed as lightning struck somewhere nearby and the guard fell to the ground, a gash on his neck spilling his blood spurt by spurt. 

The lock on the iron bar door was easily opened with the key from one of the guards and Zayn crawled into the cage. When he got close enough, he saw how Niall was dressed in filthy rags. He grimaced as he saw the manacles binding Niall’s hands and legs before unlocking them as well. Niall definitely struggled against his bindings if the angry bruises on his wrists and ankles were any indication.

But worst of all were the bruises on Niall’s face when Zayn removed the cloth bag. His right cheek was an angry purple and his upper lip was split open. Fortunately, his eyes were seemingly unharmed. And then Zayn noticed the twin trails of blood along both sides of Niall’s head that were not washed by the rain. The bandages he used on Niall were still there to cover the wound Zayn had inflicted on him but on the other side of his temple was another. Zayn could only guess that the guards had done this.

He held his old friend in his arms and exited the cage, heading towards his nearby camp.

/

Niall stirred to consciousness feeling an unexpected but most welcome warmth. He heard the crackling of fire and the tapping of rain on a wooden surface and was surprised to _see_ when he slightly opened his eyes! To see anything other than black! He saw he was in a campsite if the fire was anything to go by. There was also a covered pot over it and Niall could smell something savoury waft over from it. 

Then Niall noticed that he could move his arms and legs without restricting metal. He tried to sit up and also noticed that he was wrapped up in a thick wool blanket. But he also noticed that he wasn’t dressed in his rags anymore. In fact, he wasn’t dressed at all.

“Don’t move your head too much,” a stranger called out behind him. Niall turned to see a man dressed in dark leather armour only a couple of feet away from him. His face was obscured by a cowl and the space around him seemed unnaturally dark. “You’ll get dizzy.”

The man’s voice was deep and slow. And Niall thought it might have sounded familiar but he thought nothing of it. Niall tried to speak but all the came out was a croak. When he tried again, he found his voice. “Who are you?”

Instead of answering, the man just handed him a large piece of bread. Niall eagerly bit into the dry food, savouring the doughy taste in his mouth. The guards hadn’t given him breakfast and the gruel he had for dinner last night was barely anything to talk about.

The man got up and went towards the fire, Niall’s eyes following him warily. He didn’t look like a bandit. But he didn’t exactly look like any traveler Niall’s ever seen. His armour looked like it was made for blending into the shadows and his concealed face didn’t make him seem friendly. But he hasn’t killed Niall yet and from he could tell, the stranger must’ve broken him out.

When Niall’s head gave a throb, he winced and placed a hand to check on his injuries. He was surprised to feel new and dry bandages wrapped on his head and realized that the one on his thigh was replaced too. 

“Here,” the stranger said as he handed Niall a bowl of cabbage potato soup. Niall ignored the furrowed expression of the stranger when he devoured the bowl in a matter of seconds. “Did they not feed you?” he asked when he went to refill the bowl.

Niall gave a satisfied grunt when he finished the second bowl. “No,” he answered before setting the bowl down. “Those bastards kept me in a cell with one bowl of gruel before taking me out of the city.” Niall looked at the stranger who went to grab the bowl again. “Hey, you didn’t answer my question. Who are you?”

Zayn looked at Niall’s face. It looked tired but instead of beaten it was slightly relaxed, if a bit wary. “You don’t remember me?”

Niall shook his head. “I can’t exactly see your face. Have we met before?

Zayn didn’t answer and just handed Niall the bowl again. This time Niall dipped the last of his bread into the broth and ate slowly. He watched Zayn watching him and didn’t press further. Zayn thought about how torturous it must have been for Niall to be in the dungeons of Riften, alone and hungry. He’s been to his fair share of prisons and torture chambers but he couldn’t imagine Niall having to endure that. Even if just for a night. 

“Why do they think you murdered someone?” Zayn asked when Niall was finally done eating.

Frowning, Niall answered, “I don’t know. I don’t remember what happened.” He buried himself back into the blanket when a cold night breeze blew in and Zayn threw damp wood into the fire. “I just woke up and I found Andrea dead…”

“You don’t know who killed her?” Zayn asked curiously. 

Niall’s face twisted in concentration. He wanted to remember but he just couldn’t. The entire night was simply gone from his mind. “No.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cuirass - defensive armour comprising of a breastplate and backplate  
> 


	4. Wolf Pit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zayn and Niall travel to Cragslane Cavern.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's introduce a new character.

“Were you in Riften yesterday night?” Niall asked. His expression gave the impression that there was a slight hope in his eyes that this stranger would know something to shed light on that night. But he was more realistic now than optimistic. “Maybe you know something?” he added silently. 

Zayn shook his head and Niall went back to look at his soup. 

“I guess it’s a bit silly to think that a stranger I’ve just met would…” He sighed as he put down his soup. “Never mind.”

From his place a few feet beside Niall, Zayn just watched as the young man reflected on that particular night. Even though Niall’s been awake for about half an hour now, his eyes made it seem like he was tired. His shoulders had slumped when they were so eager at the thought of food just earlier. Just the memory of that night had immediately drained whatever energy Niall had regained through rest.

Zayn thought about how maybe he should’ve dealt with Niall like how he would’ve any other witness. A clean job, no loose ends. It was always like that. Whether it was the daughter of the targeted old farmer or the mistress of a well-known nobleman who stepped on too many toes, he always tidied up. Then he decides to spare Niall and he ends up ruining the young man’s life.

Zayn felt an unfamiliar emotion in his gut now.Guilt? He never felt guilty, though. Not after a job. He thought that maybe he was just a certain type of angry. Or maybe disappointment? Was he disappointed at having made a mistake? _Was sparing Niall a mistake?_

He just won’t make this mistake again then, he decided. Zayn hated a lot of things. Making mistakes was one of them. Mistakes could cost a Dark brother time in the dungeons or a few thousand Septims. Some have even had to give up their lives because of it. 

“Thanks, by the way,” Niall said, interrupting Zayn’s morbid pondering. “For saving my life.”

Niall was looking at him with those eyes. Those same eyes Zayn remembered from his short childhood. So soft and blue it was like Dibella* poured ambrosia to enchant colour on his irises.

“I still don’t know your name,” Niall continued as he tipped the bowl so he could drink the rest of the broth. He kept eye contact with the stranger whom he owed his life to.

 _Okay. Maybe Niall wasn’t a mistake,_ Zayn thought as he watched the other boy swallow down the last drops of cabbage potato soup.

“I haven’t got one,” Zayn replied, not breaking their mutual gazes.

The corner of Niall’s lips quirked at the answer. “That’s horse shit,” he said trying to admonish Zayn in a friendly tone. “Everyone’s got a name. Besides, if you tell me yours, I might be able to tell if I remember you.” 

Niall’s brows rose, expecting an answer that Zayn wasn’t willing to give. Not yet. As far as Niall’s concerned, the Zayn he knew had died the day he murdered his father.

“Fine,” Niall huffed before Zayn could speak up. “Since you don’t want to tell me your name, I’ll just name you myself.” Niall crossed his arms and puffed up his chest to look intimidating. But unluckily for him, he was bundled up in a blanket and his face was far from frightening. He looked more like a cornered puppy, barking at his master. 

Zayn’s mouth stood agape and his brows furrowed quizzically. He can’t say he’s surprised at all by Niall’s decision. This was the very same boy who decided to give names to the many faceless guards of Riften. He called the two by the North Gate Swift-Mouth and Sticky-Hands for their penchant for stealing from newcomers. Niall also liked to call the one female guard that kept catching him stealing salmon from the boats at the docks Nocturnal* because he could never see her approach, like she was the Night Mistress herself.

“How does Chester sound?”

And to think Zayn actually thought that he missed this kid.

/

Zayn shook Niall awake early the next day. The sun had barely broken through peaks of the Velothi Mountains* to the east. The skies had largely cleared but the ground underneath Zayn’s boots remained damp from yesternight’s light rain. Dew long settled on the needles of young pines glittered as the sun’s rays flew past them and Zayn’s horse cleared its nostrils before taking a drink from the bucket before it.

Niall groaned and buried his face underneath the sheets, hiding from the approaching sun. His body ached all over, bruises trying to heal told him to stay still. But an insistent hand kept shaking his shoulder firmly.

“Get up,” Zayn said over him.

Niall slowly turned around to ask for a few more minutes when he jolted awake. Zayn looked a lot scarier during the day, even more so when his face was inches from Niall’s. His eyes looked like they were permanently serious and his mouth looked like it was always in a scowl unless it was hidden by his scarf. From this position, Niall could feel the warm air leave Zayn’s nose as he exhaled and Niall flushed ever so slightly.

Zayn furrowed his brows. “Come on. We can’t stay for long.” He got up from his kneeling position to pull the sleeping bag from underneath Niall. “The guards at Fort Greenwall would have realized that your escorts are late.”

“That’s such a great way to start the morning,” Niall muttered to himself as he stood up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and the embarrassment from his cheeks. “Remind a guy he’s a wanted criminal.”

“What?” Zayn asked as he put the bag over his shoulder.

“Oh, nothing,” Niall answered as he dusted himself off. Sleeping on the ground was pretty uncomfortable so he rolled around in his sleep. The bedroll Zayn had given him was only as comfortable as the ground beneath it but it helped somewhat. _Come to think of it,_ Niall absently wondered, _I don’t remember seeing another bedroll for Chester._

“I need you to put out the fire and put away the pot,” Zayn said as he loaded a bag onto his horse. “Here,” Zayn said, handing Niall some bread. “Soup’s gone. So this’ll do for breakfast.”

“I’m coming with you?” Niall asked apprehensively after he took the offered bread. “Don’t get me wrong, Chester. I’m glad you broke me out but you don’t even know me.”

Zayn shrugged and continued with his packing. “If you don’t want to come, then don’t.”

Startled at the prospect of being left alone in the wilderness, Niall began to protest. “I said don’t get me wrong!” he shouted through a mouthful of food as he followed Zayn to his horse.

/

The two of them travel off the road as soon as they’re packed and ready. The road would’ve taken them straight to Fort Greenwall though now they were travelling through Skyrim’s wilderness, which was just as dangerous as far as Niall was concerned. 

Zayn insisted on Niall riding the horse as he led them through the path. Niall resisted for only a few seconds saying that it was Chester’s horse and that he wouldn’t like a stranger riding him. Now Niall was petting the back of the horse’s neck as Zayn led them through unmarked nature.

The trees around the Rift were relatively young since the older growths have been harvested long ago by the Nords to build Riften and the other villages. Still, there was an age about them that gave Niall the creeps. He liked nature well enough but the trees seemed too innocent. He was just waiting for a Frostbite Spider* to attack and put him out of his miserable worrying. 

“There’s nothing nearby,” Zayn said suddenly as if he could sense Niall’s dread.

Niall scoffed, though it was largely muted when his shoulders jumped as Zayn spoke unheeded. “I know that!”

They traveled in silence, partly because Chester didn’t seem to be in the mood to talk and largely because talking announced their presence to the entire area. Luckily for them though, it’s been a couple of hours of daylight and they still haven’t had an unfortunate encounter with one of Skyrim’s many predators.

Their path took them northward, away from Riften’s bustling streets. But their situation also forced them to stay away from Shor’s Stone*. The village was large enough to establish its own guard force so Niall wouldn’t have been safe there and Zayn told him so. Niall was unsurprised though still saddened. 

As he walked, Zayn wondered what he was doing letting Niall come along. It was one thing to spare him, another thing to save him from the guards but this was one more thing completely. Zayn would eventually return to the Sanctuary and then what? He sighed internally at his problem. There was no point to traveling with Niall. This was just crazy. Then again, Zayn remembered that Niall tended to make him do crazy things when they were kids. But this was, as he already realized, completely different.

“So, Chester,” Niall said lightly. Zayn offered a sideways glance to acknowledge him and Niall grinned. At least he’s willing to talk now. “Are you going to tell me where we’re headed?”

“To a friend of mine,” Zayn said. Though the way he took a second too long to say the word “friend” didn’t elude Niall. 

Niall nodded, his head swaying along with the horse’s body as he carried on. “How far does this friend live from here? You have to be tired from walking.”

“Not far,” Zayn said disinterestedly. “And I travel a lot. I’m used to walking.”

“Oh,” Niall remarked. “So you’re a traveler.”

“Yes.”

“Right.”

They fell silent after that. Niall wanted to engage him more but Zayn kept answering to a minimum. 

“So, Chester,” Niall said, trying to spark up conversation again. “Why’d you rescue me from those guards?”

Zayn cocked his head to the side in thought. He supposed he owed Niall an honest answer if they’re going to be traveling together for a while. “Honestly, I don’t know.”

Niall was slightly surprised, though he didn’t know what kind of answer he was expecting. Though if Chester were to say he was some kind of traveling hero, Niall wasn’t going to _not_ believe him.

“That’s odd,” Niall commented with a chuckle.

“Tell me about it,” Zayn agreed. “I don’t usually do those kinds of things.”

“What? Saving innocent people from ruthless guards?” Niall jested in a lighthearted tone.

“You could say that.” 

Niall laughed lightly. “Well, you know I kind of owe you my life because of it.”

Zayn frowned and he immediately thought of the night he thought about ending Niall. “You don’t owe me anything, Niall.”

Shaking his head, Niall disagreed. “No, I do! I was going to rot in a dungeon if it hadn’t been for you. As far as I’m concerned, you’ve just made yourself a friend!” Zayn turned to face the smirking blonde on horseback. “Besides, this way, you don’t have to travel alone.”

Zayn never really thought that he was traveling alone. He always had a home to return to after his travels, a family waiting for him. Niall didn’t have any of that now as far as Zayn knew. He wondered if Niall’s offer was more for his own sake than Zayn’s. 

/

A few hours travel eventually led them to a paved road, a little north of Shor’s Stone. It descended a rocky hill in a winding path. Zayn lead them down the hill and found a faint trail crossing their path. Zayn followed it along the hill’s face and, before long, the faint trail widened to a dirt path.

Niall spotted a pair of cages next to a campsite and worriedly turned to Zayn who just kept leading them towards it. Soon, Niall could see that there were wolf corpses in the cages. The dried blood made him cringe and briefly think about Andrea. The horse wasn’t fond of the sight either and Niall had to hold the reins and calm it down.

Zayn turned towards him and spoke, “Let me do the talking. Okay, Niall?”

Niall nodded as soon as the horse settled down. As they slowly continued towards the campsite, a large burly man dressed in hide armour appeared and walked towards them. He was carrying a large war axe with both hands and his face and bare chest were dotted with scars. Niall gulped. _What kind of friend does Chester have?_

“You picked a bad time to get lost, friend,” the man said menacingly, gripping the long handle of his axe as if he were going to use it. Frankly, Niall was pretty sure he was.

Niall was about to suggest they move on when Zayn pulled off his cowl and revealed his face to the man. His posture immediately changed. He was no longer threatening, but looked threatened. Niall didn’t know what Chester did or said but he was confused. Why would the man be threatened if he was his friend?

“Oh, it’s you,” the man said gruffly. “Go on, then.” He stepped aside to let them through. “No horses in the cave, though.”

Zayn nodded for Niall to step off. Zayn retrieved his bag from the horse before leading Niall into the mouth of the cave. Niall chanced a look back at the man and he found him looking back at them with a disgruntled look before stowing away his war axe. 

The entrance led them to a narrow corridor lit by torches on the cavern walls. Hanging moss tried to creep their way through the tiny cracks above and around them and the dirt underneath them was well-trod. Eventually, they reached the end of the corridor and stood on a wooden balcony overlooking a large open cavern. It was lit very well by numerous torches and a natural opening at the ceiling that let in sunlight.

As the two descended the stairs leading to the floor, Niall could spot a circular area barricaded by a wooden fence with a corral leading to another part of the cave system. He thought he heard faint growling but couldn’t see any source. 

There were a few individuals standing beside the fence and Niall saw a long counter flanked by stools on a raised wooden platform. It was a bar complete with a bartender pulling out bottles of mead for his patrons. Most of the people were Nords who paid them no mind. Before Niall could enjoy the thought of eating food, he definitely heard a fierce growl followed by the sound of whimpering.

“Where exactly are we, Chester?” Niall asked as he took a seat at the bar.

“Cragslane Cavern,” Zayn answered. “A place where some of The Rift’s less than reputable characters come to gamble and play.”

Niall nodded slowly, taking in the information. “And your friend is one such character?”

“You could say that,” Zayn agreed. Zayn set a few Septims on the counter before them and told Niall to get something to eat. “I’m sure you’re hungry from just eating bread.”

Grinning, Niall thanked Zayn before asking the bartender for whatever meatiest dish they have. “You’re too kind,” he said to Zayn.

That wasn’t something Zayn would use to describe himself anymore. But looking at Niall devour the seared slaughterfish, maybe Zayn will just take his word for it.

“Is that my dark acquaintance I see?” a man said behind them from atop the balcony opposite the one they just descended. The man had an accent unlike Niall has ever heard. It sounded careful but his tone was confident. And his grin told Niall he wasn’t threatened by Chester at all.

He was dressed differently from the others in the cavern with his fine clothes unsoiled by dirt. His hair was a collection of wavy lockes the colour of bark and, when he finally approached them at the bar, Niall could see the man’s eyes were surprisingly verdant. 

Niall noticed the others try to engage the man in conversation to which he would either politely decline or oblige with a grin. 

“Harry,” Zayn greeted with a handshake when the man finally reached them.

Niall listened intently for what the man named Harry would say. Surely it was going to be Chester’s real name. But Harry just shook his hand before taking Niall’s. 

“And who is this?”

“Niall,” Zayn answered. “This is Harry Styles.”

“Pleasure to have you at Cragslane, Niall,” Harry greeted with a dazzling smile that Niall couldn’t help but return. He seemed friendly enough that Niall was immediately more comfortable. He turned back to Zayn after and said, “I’ll just be taking your friend here to talk. Enjoy yourself, Niall. Place a bet, have a pint.”

When they were gone, Niall turned to the bartender. “Place a bet on what?”

The bartender gave him an amused look before answering. “The wolf pit, of course!”

A woman clad in slightly dirty tavern-style clothes placed a bottle of mead before Niall. “Our patrons bet on which wolf will survive a fight against another,” she clarified with a wink. “And if you bet large, we give you a little something extra as a consolation prize if you lose.”

Niall stopped his chewing to ask, “What something extra?”

The barmaid smiled before pulling a small phial* from her bosom. Niall blushed furiously as he watched her hand linger a little longer than necessary inside her tunic. She placed the phial next to Niall’s mead and leaned in to Niall’s ear to whisper. “Skooma*.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dibella - goddess of beauty  
> Frostbite Spiders - large arachnids that produce a very potent toxin  
> Nocturnal - deity representative of darkness, the night, and luck; commonly worshipped by thieves  
> phial - a vial  
> Shor's Stone - a village north of Riften  
> skooma - a popular, illegal, and highly addictive narcotic made from refined moonsugar  
> Velothi Mountains - the mountain range that separates the province of Skyrim on its west from the province of Morrowind on its east.


	5. Respite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few days in Cragslane Cavern and a night at the abandoned shack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's talk about Harry a bit.

Cragslane Cavern was as ill reputed as Chester claimed it was. In the few days Niall had stayed there, he had witnessed more drunken brawl fights, more debauchery, and more criminal and immoral conduct than all his time in Skyrim. Luckily for him, most of the other patrons left him well enough alone. They seemed to eye Chester very warily and steered clear of him and, by association, Niall. It seemed that the only ones who actually bothered to speak with Niall was Harry, the barkeep, and the barmaids. 

Niall did almost get into a fight with one of the barmaids, though, when he lectured her on the dangers of using skooma. When she offered him some, Niall immediately threw the offending phial to the ground.

“You might as well drink frostbite venom!” he cried out as the barmaid jumped back from the shattered glass. “Then your body will feel as numb as your soul!”

“Hey! That was one of our best batches!” she complained in turn as she was forced to clean up the mess with a rag.

Niall tried to help her but didn’t stop explaining to her the dangers of the skooma and how it has ruined countless lives. “You should see the downtrodden of Riften, the lives ruined by skooma.” It earned him a few laughs from the bartender and a few dirty looks from the crowd. 

The barmaid gave him an annoyed look once she gathered all the fragments of shattered glass. “Are you some kind of priest?”

“I was,” Niall answered a-matter-of-factly, remembering his time helping the unfortunates of The Warrens* in Markarth. Those poor souls were so sickly but the Jarl of Markarth barely did anything to help ease their anguish. Niall thought for all of Markarth’s precious silver deposits, they couldn’t mine any compassion in their barren hearts.

“Well, you’re in the wrong place then. This place doesn’t take too kindly to the righteous brand of folk,” the barmaid warned as she retreated to the back of the bar. 

Niall didn’t have to ponder too long on what she meant by it. No sooner than a few bites into his lunch the following day was he given the opportunity to witness his first wolf pit fight. 

He never imagined he’d see something so terrible and cruel in his life. Watching those beasts be let loose on each other was terrifying and exhilarating. The wolves were on each other the moment their handlers let them go. One could hear the snapping of jaws and the tell-tale sound of tearing flesh. The crowd gathered along the fence to watch which wolf would be victor and live to fight another day. The fight barely lasted fifteen minutes before the defeated whimpers of the dying wolf were silenced.

Niall thought about what Andrea must have felt when she herself was felled by her slayer. Would it be comparable to the claws of those angry animals digging into each other’s skin? Or would it have been much worse?

Niall wished he took the skooma when he had the chance. 

/

“I don’t think your friend is enjoying his stay here, Zayn,” Harry commented as he poured himself some Cyrodilic brandy from an ornately crafted glass bottle. He swirled the beverage around the ice shards in his glass before taking a sip. “It’s been three days and he hasn’t placed a wager on the pit at all. I’m feeling insulted.”

Zayn knew Harry was just joking, of course. Harry could care less if anyone didn’t bet on his prized snow wolf, whom he’ll remind you is still undefeated. 

Harry was sat behind a wooden desk in a rather large room within the cavern. It was lit by candles scattered on the surfaces of drawers and tables. Papers were on the floor with numbers telling stories about the success of last year’s skooma shipments. But the most important feature of the room was Harry’s personal safe box tucked away within his wooden desk. 

Inside it were various trinkets and sordid love letters from a young handsome wizard in the College of Winterhold. You know, stuff he’d rather not have circulating throughout the criminal underworld of Skyrim. 

“What’s really on your mind?” Zayn asked, knowing Harry was just dying to ask him more questions about his friend.

“I know he’s your friend and all,” Harry began, reciting the story Zayn told him days prior. “But why must you take him with you to Falkreath? Why not just leave him here with me?”

“Because I can keep an eye on him in Falkreath,” Zayn answered as he took a seat opposite and poured himself a glass. “Besides, I don’t trust you.”

Harry faked a scoff. “No need to be mean. I’m just saying that I can take care of him. No need to worry your pretty head over him.”

Zayn looked bemused.

“I wouldn’t make him do anything that went against his temple teachings,” Harry joked.

“Everything here goes against his temple teachings.”

“Which makes me wonder why you even keep him with you,” Harry went on. “You’re not exactly the most devout servant of the Nine Divines.”

“Your point?” Zayn returned sharply. This entire conversation was starting to annoy him. He was just trying to do what he thought would be best for Niall. He didn’t expect Harry to understand that but it didn’t make it any less frustrating to explain.

Harry smiled against the rim of his glass before downing the rest of his drink. “I just remember another ne’er-do-well who met a nice boy who helped him changed his ways,” Harry told in a reminiscing tone. A fond smile grew on his face and he looked up at his memories of a not too distant past. Then he rolled his eyes and turned back to Zayn. “Well, _tried_ to change his ways. The money was too good,” he finished with a shrug of his shoulders.

“This is hardly the same,” Zayn retorted. “He’s not trying to change me.”

“It seems the boy doesn’t need to try,” Harry replied cheekily. “You’ve already rescued one in need. Why you’re the very model of a successful convert!”

The glass Zayn held in his gloved hand threatened to break under his grip until a knock on the wooden door interrupted both of the men’s thoughts.

“Uhm, sir,” a man dressed in modest town clothes addressed Harry, “we have a problem.”

“What is it?” Harry drawled out in an exasperated manner as if this was a too common occurrence. He grunted audibly when the man hesitated to report the problem. 

“I’ve, umm,” the man began, “received word that Sarthis Idren and his men have been killed.”

Harry’s head followed his eyes as they turned sharply to regard the messenger before him. “By whom?” he asked plainly, though his eyes have become hard and his jaw was set in a tense line.

“We don’t know, sir,” the man answered nervously while not looking Harry in the eyes. “But we do know that whoever did it was working for the jarl. Our refining equipment of moon sugar* in the Riften Docks has also been confiscated.”

Shattering glass filled the silence that had followed the news when Harry threw his glass against the cavern wall in frustration. The man flinched away and Zayn just sipped from his own cup, unaffected by this apparently bad news. 

“I knew that fucking idiot Dunmer couldn’t keep it up forever,” Harry said calmly before turning to Zayn. “It seems your murderous priest boy hasn’t deterred the jarl from trying to tidy up her fair city.”

“Like you said,” Zayn answered as he set down his glass on the table to face Harry. “The fucking idiot Dunmer couldn’t keep it up forever.”

The two men were now sharing hard gazes before Harry broke it. “Well, it seems I have business to attend to. Zayn, if you please.”

Zayn understood the dismissal and left promptly. But not before snagging the bottle of Cyrodilic brandy on his way out. Harry would get rather violent when faced with unforeseen hindrances in his very ordered system. Zayn didn’t see the point in letting the alcohol go to waste. 

“This has Maven Black-Briar written all over it,” Harry groaned against his palm as he tried to control his frustration when Zayn closed the door. “I bet all the wealth of Riften that the jarl has entrusted _her_ with the equipment!”

“Our source has not received such word, sir.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Harry grumbled. “She’ll get her hands on it soon enough.”

“Even if she did, we control the flow of moon sugar into the Rift and the rest of Skyrim,” the man added thoughtfully, hoping to assuage Harry’s growing frustration.

“Hmm,” Harry hummed as he held his hands in a gesture of thought. “She’s a resourceful woman. I’m afraid she’s even more resourceful than me.”

“What do you think she might do?”

“I believe she might have one of our men smuggle some of our shipments for her,” Harry responded knowingly. “It might already have been arranged.”

The man looked worriedly at the young leader. “What do we do then, sir?”

“We try to find out who might become a traitor, of course,” Harry said with a malicious glint in his narrowed eyes. 

/

Niall was counting a pouch full of Septims when Zayn opened the door to their shared quarters.

“Where’d you get those?” Zayn asked in mild surprise. He doesn’t remember giving Niall that much money.

“Hey, Chester.” Niall gave him a satisfied grin. “I won it in a friendly wager. Here,” Niall said handing Zayn a handful of coins. “This is for my meal. Hopefully, I can start earning my own money while we travel.”

Zayn accepted the coins, not noticing the way Niall’s hand lingered on his. “Really? You bet on the wolf pit?”

“Gods, no!” Niall protested. “I would never encourage something so barbaric. No, I won these in a drinking contest.”

Zayn noted that proud grin and remembered childhood games when Niall would best him. _He still retains that competitive nature of his, I see._

“Speaking of drinking, are you going to share that?” Niall asked, eyeing the expensive brandy in Zayn’s hand.

“Have you tasted this before?” Zayn asked as he handed Niall the bottle, careful so as to not spill from the unstoppered rim. “It might be a little–”

“My gods!” Niall exclaimed as his face scrunched up in surprise at the very strong taste. “It tastes so sweet at first but after…”

“–Strong for you.”

“You’re telling me!” Niall said, the taste still lingering uncomfortably in his tongue as he read the label. “Cyrodilic brandy.”

“Only the finest for our Sir Harry,” Zayn added as he took the bottle away from Niall and took a sip himself. He savoured the strong punch of the fruit-based sweetness before the sensation of alcohol warmed him up. 

They enjoyed the quietness of their room, Niall drinking his mead and Zayn his reserve now that the brandy was finished. They were only occasionally interrupted by the cheering of patrons a short distance away in the main cavern. No doubt a few more wolves have been killed. 

At the end of his bottle, Zayn set it down and spoke, “I was thinking perhaps we should journey to Falkreath tomorrow morning.”

Niall looked up from his own bottle. “Anywhere but here,” Niall agreed. “But why Falkreath?”

“I think you can stay there and be safe,” Zayn replied.

“Are you just going to drop me off there?” Niall questioned. “I thought we agreed that I was going to travel with you.”

“I don’t have a clear destination for myself,” Zayn explained. “I don’t think you’re the sort to travel for the rest of his life.”

“You don’t know that. And I’ve always wanted to go on some adventure throughout Skyrim,” Niall replied wistfully.

Zayn sighed. “You don’t know what dangers such an adventure holds.”

“What?” Niall huffed. “You don’t think I can handle myself?”

“No,” Zayn answered plainly. “You’re a city boy. I can tell.” _And I’ve seen your reflexes. You’d be devoured by a sabre cat* at a moment’s glance,_ he thought to himself.

“That’s preposterous!” Niall said indignantly, standing up to walk over to Zayn’s bedroll and stand over him in a threatening stance. “Come up here and say that.”

Not one to back down from a challenge, Zayn got up from his bedroll and towered over Niall. He was taller than the blonde man by a couple of inches and he boasted armour and a dagger holster and numerous other concealed weapons whereas Niall was simply dressed in clothes Harry said fit him better than the unflattering ones he wore to the cavern. Zayn looked down on his old friend and said, “You won’t last a week out there.”

Niall looked up at Zayn in defiance. He may not be as hardened as Chester but damn him if anyone is going to tell him he can’t defend himself. He was about to retort when he found himself looking up at Chester’s deep brown eyes, so familiar in their shine. Niall could swear that he’d seen them before.

And without Chester’s cloth mask, Niall could clearly see the features of his face at this close proximity: the strong jaw ending in a slightly narrow chin, the eyelashes so long and elegant on such a hardened face, and that noble nose suggesting wisdom beyond his years. They seemed so familiar, as if from a person he met long ago. 

Zayn noticed the reddening of Niall’s cheeks and the way the shorter man regarded him. He held his breath when Niall parted his mouth and he chanced a glance at the pair of pink lips that looked softened in the glow of the candlelight. 

Zayn found the will to hold Niall by his upper arms and hold him still for he looked like he was close to falling on him. “You’re drunk.”

“A little bit,” Niall nodded in agreement as he broke his inspection of Zayn to look at his bedroll. “Let’s, umm, talk about it tomorrow.”

Nodding, Zayn watched as Niall retreated to his own bedroll and turn in. He laid back down on his own and wondered how different this Niall looked from the Niall of his childhood. He remembered how he thought Niall still looked the same as when he was young when he encountered him in the temple of Mara. But seeing him in the light of this room, or maybe through drunken eyes, he looked different.

Niall’s eyes were no longer innocent. They were greyed with age yet vibrant with his characteristic enthusiasm. His hair was always allowed to grow long in his youth and now it was shorn short and shy against his ears. His cheeks which were full and round in their days of games were now hollowed in maturity. Niall managed to look like a boy and a man at the same time. 

Zayn fell asleep to memories of his happy childhood with Niall. Memories he thought he locked away long ago.

/

From outside of an abandoned shack in the salt marshes of the Hjaalmarch*, one could have heard the whimpers of a Nord warrior, bound and gagged, before his throat was cruelly cut by a rusted iron dagger. 

“Please! Please spare m—”

He gasped his last breaths, the first victim of that night. Blood trickled in spurts from the obscene wound, warm and terrifying. The woman next to him cursed and wrestled against her restraints. 

“As Mara as my witness, if I didn’t have this hood on right now I would spit right in your face!”

Astrid watched her new candidate make short work of the annoying goodwife. The swift dagger was plunged right through the bitch’s throat, eliciting desperate chokes as the poor woman tried to fill her lungs with air. The goodwife’s venomous words ceased and she dropped to the floor to join the dead Nord.

“Do your worst,” the bound Khajiit* snarled, knowing he was the last of the three hostages still alive. His blood was racing through his veins and his fangs were bared underneath the black executioner’s hood. He heard his death walking closer. Then he was felled like the rest. 

Astrid remained on her perch in the corner of the shack, admiring the work of the panting young woman. “Well, well. Aren’t we the overachiever? Three possibilities, three victims. Must have been one of them right? So why take chances…” 

“You told me to kill the contract so I did,” a woman no older than 24 winters replied. Her town robes were stained with spots of blood fresh from her victims and her blonde hair had fallen disheveled from her ribbon. The dim light from the single lamp in the shack casted a ghostly brilliance around her pale skin. 

“So you did,” Astrid agreed, a plotting glint shining in her eyes. “Here is the key to the door as promised. You’re free to go. But why stop here?”

“What do you mean?” the woman questioned, looking at Astrid apprehensively. 

“I like the way you take orders. And that little flourish of your wrist after killing that Khajiit screams of an enthusiasm we rarely find in others,” Astrid noted. She jumped from her perch and offered her hand to the young woman before her. “I would to like to officially extend an invitation for you to join my family: the Dark Brotherhood.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hjaalmarch - a hold in the north shore of Skyrim, at the mouth of the Karth River; its capital is the city of Morthal  
> Khajiit - a feline race of humanoids native to the province of Elsweyr  
> moon sugar - main ingredient in the production of skooma  
> sabre cat - a giant and ferocious machairodont predator found in the areas of northern and central Skyrim  
> Warrens, the - an area of Markarth set aside for the poor and the sick


	6. Settling In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zayn leaves Niall in Falkreath and returns to the Sanctuary.

A small rabbit’s beady eyes scanned the grassy field spread around it. It was littered by the leaves and needles of the nearby forest but the rabbit found a choice spot to pick a few blades of grass to chew on. Its grazing spot was immediately abandoned, though, when a nearby axe’s swing was stopped on a solid piece of wood with a thump. 

Niall pulled back the axe and rested it against his leg as he wiped off sweat from his brow. He had barely split half his assigned wood for the day and he was already tired. This much hard labour was never necessary when he was at the temple. Niall admitted that he missed the easy life of an acolyte as he slumped against the stump he split wood on. 

“Hey, get your arse off the ground!” Niall heard his boss Bolund call out as he stomped closer. “I’m not paying you to lie about in the sun like a rack of goat hide being tanned.” 

Bolund was a rather tough looking Nord. His eyes were pale blue and jaw was set in a hard line. His hair was pulled back over his head and two braids flanked his serious face. His large build was still visible even though he wore many layers to shield himself from the cold when he handled wood in the mill. The irritated look on Bolund’s eyes was enough to get Niall scrambling up off the ground and clutching the woodcutter’s axe purposefully. 

“This pile of wood better be split by the end of the hour,” Bolund ordered. “Or I’m docking your pay.” 

Niall nodded furiously as he hurried to place a piece of wood on the stump before splitting it with a simple swing. He sighed in relief as Bolund turned to leave him alone and when he was out of sight, Niall slumped back down. 

His arms were aching in a way Niall knew was good for his muscles, but he still didn’t like it. This was all Chester’s fault. 

He really hated that Chester just up and left him in the middle of the night. They arrived at Falkreath after a couple of days on the road from Cragslane Cavern. During that time, Niall attempted to get Chester to divulge more about himself. He almost succeeded on their first night out. Chester looked almost sad under the glow of the dancing fire while Niall reminisced about his parents. Niall asked Chester what was the matter when a small pack of wolves interrupted them. 

Niall rubbed the back of his left shoulder, remembering where a wolf got a lucky scratch at him before Chester struck it with his dagger. It seemed that Chester was always there to help him up whenever he found himself in trouble during their short time together. But now Chester disappeared from his life as quickly as he showed up. 

Done with his quick break, Niall took a quick scan of the area to make sure Bolund hadn’t seen him and went back to work. 

/

It’s been a week since Chester and Niall arrived at Falkreath and a week since Niall’s last seen him. Niall always returned to the same room in the Dead Man’s Drink they had rented; now it became the room he’d been living in since Chester left. It was a stroke of luck for Niall to discover that the owner of the inn was an old friend, Josh. 

Josh was a retired Imperial legionnaire nearing forty odd winters. He decided to retire early after his tour in Skyrim. He described the land as “chilling my bones enough to make me want to stop moving and settle down.” Though he’s retired, Josh has prided himself with his swordsmanship and has a collection of Imperial swords in the inn. 

He came to the Temple of Mara a few years ago seeking help in the matter of his love for a woman in Falkreath. Niall was assigned to assist Josh in his endeavour. At first, Josh wasn’t too pleased to have a youngster be his advisor but Mara was on his side when he married Valga Vinicia, the owner and bartender of the Dead Man’s Drink, a week later. 

Grateful for his help all those years ago, Josh and Valga offered Niall a room at a reduced rate for as long as he needed it when they discovered Niall’s companion had abandoned him. 

“Bolund working you to the bone again?” Valga asked as she poured Niall a tankard of mead when he sat down. Niall nodded tiredly before downing his drink. Valga dutifully refilled it. “Yes, well, he’s always been a grumpy one. Along with his brother!” Valga put down the pitcher of mead and continued her storytelling. “Always been like that since Josh here married me. Probably taking his frustration out on you.” 

“Please don’t tell Bolund I helped you two get married,” Niall pleaded causing both him and Valga to laugh. 

“Don’t you worry, Niall. Your secret is safe with me,” Valga assured him. Then she pointed over to her husband who was arguing with the bard over what songs to play on the drums. “I can’t guarantee him, though. Give the man a few ales and he’ll go on and on about his _experiences_ as an Imperial legionnaire. The Divines know all he did was clear out bandits from old forts.” 

“I can’t imagine seeing Josh going off to fight,” Niall thought out loud. His friend seemed too domesticated when he came to Riften. And that was even _before_ he retired. 

“Neither could I,” Valga agreed with him. “I thank Akatosh* he’s retired. I don’t want him fighting in this damn civil war that Ulfric Stormcloak’s got the entire province mired in.” 

Niall nodded to that. He wasn’t at all sympathetic to the Stormcloak cause and he took care to not show it in Riften where Stormcloak support was high. But these were matters too big for him to do anything about so he rarely thought of or spoke about it. He wondered what Chester thought about the civil war, though. 

“Oh, but enough gossip. I’m sure you’re hungry,” Valga said smiling knowingly. 

Grinning, “Starved, actually,” Niall clarified. “What have you got tonight?” 

/

Zayn returned to the congratulations of his family for a job well done. Or at least the ones who were still awake at that late hour. Babette told him that much of Skyrim was abuzz at the news of the defilement of the Temple of Mara and the murder of a priestess. 

“It’s a bit unlike you to frame that priest boy, though,” Babette pointed out. 

Zayn stopped at his doorway and turned to Babette. “I wanted to cover my tracks.” 

Babette crossed her arms as she looked up at Zayn and pursed her lips. “If you say so. It seems like he knew how to fight, too. Killed two guards and escaped while en route to Fort Greenwall. Though not everyone knows that part, I hear.” 

Zayn knew Babette could tell that he was lying. But Zayn also knew that Babette wouldn’t pry. If she wanted to know something, all she had to do was wait. It’ll come out sooner or later. Zayn will try his damndest to keep it hidden, though. If anyone found out he became attached to someone on the outside, he’d look weak and pathetic. 

There was no room in his life for anyone who wasn’t a Dark brother or sister. Being back in the Sanctuary just made him feel like it was the right decision to leave Niall on his own in Falkreath. Niall was just an unnecessary obstacle. Zayn had done more than what he supposed was enough to make up for Niall being accidentally framed. Now, there would be no reason for him to ever see his old friend. And that was how he wanted it. 

Zayn fell into an uneasy sleep on his bed, waking to consciousness in the middle of the night to look for a campfire that needed to be tended or a sleepy blonde head to relieve from watch duty. He didn’t sleep for the rest of the night, opting instead to break open one of his bottles of reserve. 

In his mild stupor, Zayn began to unpack his satchel. Some of the contents of the bag fell to the floor as clumsy hands tried to pull them out but couldn’t be kept in their grasp. The sound of metal falling onto the stone floor caught Zayn’s attention, though, and he crouched down to pick up the item. 

Sat by the edge of his bed, Zayn held Niall’s amulet of Mara contemplating the completely different paths both his and Niall’s lives took. Memories of before he became an assassin came to the fore; memories filled with the smiles of his mother. _Then it all went wrong._

“I couldn’t stay, Niall,” Zayn confessed to his empty room as he studied the amulet in his hand. “I don’t want you to remember who I was.” He then took a long swig of his bottle before discarding it. “And I don’t want you to see how I’m not him anymore.” 

Zayn didn’t remember his drunken confession when he finally woke up from unconsciousness brought on by the alcohol. 

/

The week started off uneventfully as they usually do for Zayn. Astrid was off in Morthal* on an _errand_ for a few days now as Gabriella described it. Festus was taking care of some business in Markarth, some miner who stepped on some pretty rich toes who didn’t want to hire regular thugs for the job. 

A few days into the week found Zayn informing Nazir of the situation with Harry. “The Jarl of Riften may be even more diligent in her city,” Zayn said. 

“All thanks to you, Brother Malik,” Nazir chuckled after he drank from his wine goblet. “I’ll be sure to let the others know when I give them their assignments if it’s in the Rift.” 

Nazir was another Redguard assassin and showed exceptional skill in swordwork. His weapon of choice was a scimitar* which he kept stowed by his belt. He often wore traditional red garbs that covered his temple. He was one of the few assassins to wear loose clothing, a leather vest providing what little protection he needed against his quarries. 

Though Zayn himself was part Redguard, Nazir wasn’t the warmest face to welcome him to the Brotherhood. Zayn suspected it was due to his mixed ancestry and that Nazir thought he wouldn’t be as effective a warrior as a full-blooded Redguard like himself. He proved Nazir wrong when Zayn helped him break out from the Whiterun dungeons. Zayn remembered Nazir making him some shish taouk* a few days after as a subtle way of thanking him. Zayn never did figure out how Nazir knew chicken was his favourite food. 

“Ah, Babette,” Nazir greeted as the little vampire entered the dining room to take a seat by Zayn. “I’ve got a job for you.” 

“Oh, goodie!” Babette exclaimed. 

Nazir pulled out a crumpled piece of paper and read out the details to the both of them. “A farmer wants his father dead so he can inherit the farm. Payment is 500 Septims after the inheritance comes through.” 

“Patricide,” Babette concluded. “Something both of you can relate to, I’m sure.” 

Nazir let out a laugh but Zayn just shook his head and drank from his goblet unflustered. Babette reached for the piece of paper with the contract details with her short arms. 

“Don’t play with your food, Babette,” Nazir reminded her as she pored over the details of her contract. 

Zayn excused himself to retire to his quarters. Walking along the hall that led to his room, Zayn spotted a few of the Sanctuary residents gathered in the central chamber. One person stood out from among them, though. A young woman was speaking with Arnbjorn who was no doubt telling her how her blue dress was giving him a headache. 

Unsurprisingly, the woman looked a bit intimidated by Arnbjorn. He was an imposing figure, towering over six feet and past 200 pounds of muscle. He was also Astrid’s husband and a werewolf. By the look on her face, Zayn surmised Arnbjorn has just told her that. Maybe even called her a lambshank. 

“And that dark figure over there is Zayn,” Zayn heard Astrid say as he passed them by. “He’s one of our shier members so don’t be afraid to introduce yourself later.” 

And introduce herself later she did. He wished greatly that he could just throw her into Liz’s pit and let Gabriella’s pet frostbite spider deal with her. But she was part of the family now and he was going to have to meet her sooner or later. 

“Hello, Zayn,” the new assassin greeted and prompting Zayn to turn away from the enchanting table. “I’m Louise.” 

Zayn stood afore her and crossed his arms unimpressed. 

The woman stood at a slender five and a half feet which was fairly short in Nord standards of height. Her small frame was covered neck to toe in the Dark Brotherhood’s trademark shrouded leather armour and Zayn could spot a few outlines on the armour where Louise had concealed her weapons improperly. 

However, Zayn couldn’t begrudge Louise her beauty. Her skin was snow white and the kohl around the rim of her eyes served to sharpen the blue hue of her irises. Her lips were painted with flattering rouge and her face was lightly dusted with some sparkling powder. Lastly, her pale blonde hair was pulled back into a neat ponytail with a crimson ribbon. Why she looked like this, he had no idea. 

“Hello,” Zayn replied, finished with his initial observations. “Can I help you?” 

Feeling the positive scrutiny on her face, Louise pursed her lips and beckoned him, “Astrid wants to have a word with the both of us. Come.” Then she turned to leave. 

Normally, Zayn wouldn’t suffer such an insult to his pride by being ordered around by some up-and-comer but his eyes also couldn’t help but admire the round contours of her arse underneath the dark material. He’ll let it slide just this once. 

She may be just the distraction he needed to rid his mind of Niall tonight. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Akatosh - the dragon god of time and chief deity of the Divines  
> Morthal - capital city of the Hjaalmarch hold  
> scimitar - a sabre with a curved blade  
> shish taouk - traditional Redguard dish cooked en brochette; similar to shish kebab


End file.
